Good King Vetinari?
by AlyssC01
Summary: Based on the carol: Good King Wenceslas. It's Hogwatchnight and Lord Vetinari is looking out of the window, listening to Drumknott when he sees a beggar... Please Read and Review!


_TITLE: Good King… Vetinari? _

_AUTHOR: AlyssC01 – Alyssa C. _

_PAIRINGS: None. _

_SPOILERS: None once again. _

_RATING: K _

_WARNINGS: Look both ways before you cross the street. Eat your vegetables and don't look directly into the sun if you are not a witch. Oh, content warnings? No. Nothing. _

_STATUS: Complete. _

_FEEDBACK: Please! Will do tricks for feedback! _

_DISCLAIMER: Discworld and all its characters are the property of Terry Pratchett. Good King Wenceslas lyrics are public domain. You can find it and its history at wikipedia. Just Google it. :) I don't make money out of this. Not even a little bit. If Vetinari was mine… Well. If I was his… I'd be a much happier person. _

_AN: Final exams and a new CD are not a good combination. I recently acquired __**Blackmore's Night's Winter Carols CD**__ and it had a cover of the old carol __**Good King Wenceslas**__ in it. For some unexplainable reason (unexplainable, I have no idea how my neurons linked up the idea), it made me think of our favourite Patrician. I had resolved long ago not to write fan fiction into Discworld as quite honestly I feel that it belongs to the Master and no one can do it justice, least of all me. Sadly, though, this fic would not leave me alone. ;) I beg forgiveness. A big thanks to my Beta, Leah Day, who despite the fact that she actually had no idea what was going on here, reviewed this wonderfully! _

&&&

The supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork looked out of the window over his frozen and dark kingdom. It wasn't his of course, he was merely it's… Caretaker. The proverbial seat warmer for the king that will never come. Especially not, Lord Havelock Vetinari decided, on a Hogwatchnight as cold as this. He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Ah… My lord?"

Lord Vetinari blinked and turned to the only other person in the room with him. Rufus Drumknott waited patiently until his full attention was fixed on him. He was one of the only people in Ankh-Morpork who could stand it. Or survive it.

Lord Vetinari mentally caught up with the conversation and motioned to his personal secretary to continue.

"Carry on Drumknott," he said with a hint of apology in his tone. Just a hint mind, it wasn't brave enough to upgrade to a suggestion.

"As… I was saying sir," Drumknott continued monotonously. "There are a few Hogwatch presents this year. Notably these two…" He paused to look at his clipboard that had two cards pinned to it. "One is from Mrs. Cake and was "Is" accompanied by a black scarf. She says that you'll: _'…do good to wear it. There is a late winter cold coming on and you'll be one of its first visitors.'"_

Lord Vetinari smiled slightly and made a brief motion with his hand. "You can put it on the table, Drumknott," he said. "I really appreciated her foot powder from last year. And, the other one?"

Drumknott frowned at it slightly and fidgeted with the paper.

"It's from outside Ankh-Morpork, my lord," he said. "Some Ogg woman from the Lancre area."

Lord Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

"My word," he said, "I didn't know they knew…" He wasn't one to look down on people that some might see as the lesser in habitants of discworld. "I didn't know that there was a post office there."

Drumknott shook his head. "It was delivered by hand sir, along with a very big ham."

The Patrician thought about this for a moment then glanced at Drumknott. "What did the note say?"

Drumknott gingerly opened the card and squinted at the letters.

"_Dear, your upperness. Our Nev here says that you are not fed right. Can't have a king starving. Our Verence here, he likes our ham. This here is real Ramtop ham made from them real Ramtop pigs…"  
_Lord Vetinari winched. He could almost hear the bad grammar and see the bad spelling further down the page. He motioned to Drumknott to stop as a figure outside caught his attention. He studied it with interest.

"Do you think that anybody bothered to explain to her that I'm…?" He thought for a moment. "What do you think unreal Ramtop ham is made of?"

Drumknott shrugged slightly, holding the clipboard to his chest. "Couldn't say my lord."

Lord Vetinari was still studying the moving figure.

"Well," he said distracted, "rather real Ramtop ham than any of the other options I'd say. Why do you think people insist on sending me food? It happens every year."

Rufus Drumknott took a moment to study his lordship, taking in his wiry flamingo like frame, his thin, skeletal like hands clasped behind his back and his sharp, almost gaunt face.

"I honestly couldn't say my lord."

Lord Vetinari glanced at him ever so briefly and smiled as if he saw a joke. Then he turned his face back to the window and motioned his clerk closer.

"Tell me," he said, waving at the figure shuffling around in the snow. "Who is that? Do you know?"

Rufus Drumknott had long since learned that it was in his best interests to know.

He walked to the window, taking care to notice where the dog basket was, and looked out into the night.

"That's the Duck Man, my lord," he said, "He's one of the… _members_ of the Canting Crew."

Lord Vetinari raised an interested eyebrow and studied the shuffling beggar. "That would be one of Foul Ole Ron's?" He only half asked. "Tell me; is that a duck on his head?"

Drumknott could only nod.

"Capital." The Patrician said to himself and studied the man's movements as he inspected any unusual bumps of snow. Every now and again, he would stop to pick up something that was probably flammable, sending the duck flapping for balance. The man paid it no mind.

Drumknott shifted, uncomfortable with his lordship's interest in the man. He glanced at his papers and shuffled them. When it didn't rouse the patrician's attention, he cleared his throat again. As Lord Vetinari's eyes landed on him though he found his immunity to the stare wavering ever so slightly.

"Ah…" He searched for information to strengthen it. "He lives down by the Misbegot Bridge, my lord."

The patrician's eyes left his and returned their gaze to the murky dark world outside the window. Drumknott sighed softly and stepped back again to a distance that he felt comfortable.

"It's Hogwatchnight Drumknott." Lord Vetinari said without warning. "And it's quite late already. What are you still doing here my good man?"

Drumknott glanced at his clipboard and half shrugged. "I thought that I would… work," he finished lamely, all too aware of the patrician's suddenly solitary figure. He stood alone by the window, looking at a man who probably rarely had any company save for a misplaced duck.

He was, Drumknott suddenly realized, one of the loneliest men in the kingdom. None the less, the lonely man turned around and smiled at him, ever so slightly.

"Why don't you go home Drumknott?" he queried, his voice uncharacteristically warm. "It is Hogwatchnight. And, I do believe you have a family."

The head clerk shifted uncomfortably, aware that this was probably the most personal thing the patrician had ever said about him. "I really thought that I would work," he said. "You might need…"

The man turned and smiled at him, shaking his head ever so slightly. "On Hogwatchnight, there is nothing that can't wait till morning," he said and smoothly stepped away from the window. Picking up the black scarf on his desk, he limped past Drumknott and rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Go home Rufus. That's an order."

There was a small earthquake from underneath the patrician's desk. By the time Lord Vetinari reached the door it had erupted into a wad of blankets. The blankets hobbled over the floor, where it paused mid way and shook itself to reveal the patrician's geriatric terrier. It hobbled over to Drumknott, gave his shoes a companionable wheeze and then happily went through the door his master was holding open for him. Drumknott watched as the supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork gave his pet a rare genuinely fond smile and close the door behind them, leaving him in the empty room. Drumknott looked around the office, feeling a strange mixture of relief and sadness.

"Happy Hogwatchnight my lord," he said softly before sighing and going to his office to gather his things.

&&&

Lord Vetinari was standing at the gates of the palace, watching the cartful of "gifts" from his loyal subjects. There was a thick and steamy letter from Mrs. Palm. No doubt a gift voucher like the previous year. She always believed that one of these cold winter nights she will lead him to temptation. He smiled and pocketed it. The Thieves' Guild also had a voucher for him, a kind of: "Congratulations, you won't be robbed for the next year," promotion. He didn't need it, but he liked passing it on to some of his more unfortunate clerks. Nobody could accuse him of being a selfish despot.

The other gifts consisted of a wide range of assorted stuff that the people of Ankh-Morpork obviously thought he needed. There was an egg peeler, a few pies (one custard), and a maroon jumper from someone named Weasely. Small but personal items that people figured that they couldn't do without and felt that he shouldn't have to either. It was a strange thought to bend his mind around. He knew he was unpopular and he knew that he was a tyrant. It was one of the things that made him so enduring. Being endearing didn't help you one bit if people were successful in disposing of you.

He looked at the cart and down to a portion that Wuffles were sniffing.

The gifts were one thing; there were many rooms in the palace but the food? He tapped his chin and glanced at the guards who were standing by the door, rigid. He murmured to himself and thought for a bit. Hearing a faint Quack in the distance he came to a decision.

"I'm going inside," he said to no one in particular. "And I have absolutely no idea how many hams are on the cart. Do you understand me?"

The guards glanced at each other then said as one: "Yes sir!"

"Capital." the patrician smiled at them. Then, making sure Wuffles were following him, went back into the palace. He had a few other things that he needed to do.

&&&

When the figure emerged from the secret passageway, Wuffles had already settled back into his basket. The figure tired to slip past him to the other passageway but instinct called the elderly terrier up and made followed the uncharacteristically dressed figure to the next passageway. The person paused and gave a suffered sigh.

"It's going to be cold," he told the dog but didn't prevent him from following.

Much later that evening an observer would've seen a steely thin figure dressed in rags and a black scarf move quietly through the snow. Behind him, following in his footsteps, was a wire-haired terrier with a stiff, arthritic gait. At some point, the steely figure paused and walked back. He picked up the dog smoothly and slipped him into the recesses of his old cloak. If they had been close enough, they would've heard the dog sigh with content and promptly slip back into his dreams of wolves and how he chased and bewildered them.

&&&

The Chanting Crew were celebrating Hogwatchnight with the dejectedness of people happy to be alive and among friends but somewhat sour that being alive and among friends didn't include being alive and among friends with a slice or three or turkey or ham. None the less, they didn't complain. You had to be in the Guild to do that.

They were so dejected and lost in their own thoughts that they didn't immediately notice the new comer until Foul Ole Ron's Smell scooted over and made place for him by the fire. The Crew blinked at the stranger in surprise.

Foul Ole Ron was the first to twitch.

"Bugerit," he snapped, "millennium hand and shrimp!" He stood up and advanced to the stranger. "Squida…" He cut off what he was about to say when the stranger just glanced at him. The Smell warned him that it might not be a good idea, from his coat Gaspode confirmed that it wasn't. The little dog squirmed out from under the recesses of his own private kingdom. He paused when he saw Altogether Andrews twitch twice. They all did, even the stranger eyed him wearily. An unidentified bundle of rags next to him moved away slightly when…

"Oi! What there new one are you doing?"

There was a communal sigh of relief.  
It was not Burke who had showed his face but rather Little Sidney who had never gotten the grasp of sentence structure. Gaspode shook himself and sniffed the air.

"Hang on a moment Sidney," he said. "He smells like… like ham."

The duck on Duck Man's head quacked randomly, as his… Ride's head bobbed up.

"Got any more where that came from, Mister?" He asked as he saw the figure moved to pull a leg of ham from somewhere in his cloak and put it on the ground. Gaspode trotted over and gave it a sniff, then up at the new comer. He could smell it. Like the bread crumbs that lead to Black Alis's gingerbread cottage. It was there, all marked out.

The newcomer smiled at him, sat back and closed his eyes. There was a snore from the recesses of his cloak. The Crew watched as Gaspode scratched himself, considering the situation. Then, when his stomach barked instructions at himself he yielded to temptation.

"Duck man!" He said. "Bring Arnold's wheelbarrow… There's plenty more where that came from."

He trotted up the trail past the new comer, nodding his head ever so slightly.

"Your Lordship…"  
The figure just smiled and remained in that same position until the Crew returned later with a feast fit for any palace. The figure didn't share in their meal but at some point sat up, letting the old terrier out of his cloak to lick at a bone.

"Well." The figure said for the first time, smiling to the world in general. "Isn't this nice?"

The bundle of rags stirred, thick leathery lips sucking at a barrel of eggnog.

"Ook."

FIN – Good King… Vetinari?

_AN: I thought to keep this fic till Christmas, but then, when I went to the shops last night I realised that they were already packing out the Christmas decorations. So, in the view of celebrating Christmas in November, I posted this. ____ Now, lol, review as an early Christmas present. ___

_The Lyrics of Blackmore's Night's version of Good King Wenceslas: _

**_Good King Wenceslas_**

_Good King Wenceslas looked out  
On the feast of Stephen  
When the snow lay round about  
Deep and crisp and even  
Brightly shone the moon that night  
Though the frost was cruel  
When a poor man came in sight  
Gathering winter fuel_

"Hither page and stand by me  
If thou knowst it telling  
Yonder peasant who is he  
Where and what his dwelling?"  
"Sire, he lives a good league hence  
Underneath the mountain  
Right against the forest fence  
By St Agnes Fountain"

Bring me bread and bring me wine  
Bring me pine logs hither  
Thou and I shall see him dine  
When be bear them thither  
Page and monarch forth they went  
Forth they went together  
Through the rude winds wild lament  
And the bitter weather

In his masters steps he trod  
Where the snow lay dinted  
Heat was in the very sod  
Which the Saint had printed  
Therefore all you men be sure  
Wealth or rank possessing  
He who now shall bless the poor  
Shall yourselves find Blessing 

_Feedback will be appreciated. _

_Take care everybody. _

_Alyss _

_-;-- _


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